


Ivar' Game

by grayspider1974



Category: Vikings (TV)
Genre: Other, medical drug use/midwifery/inbreeding/birth defects/oral sex jokes/ Latin profanity
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-18
Updated: 2017-03-25
Packaged: 2018-09-25 07:11:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 12,967
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9808697
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/grayspider1974/pseuds/grayspider1974
Summary: In which Ivar learns to chill out.





	1. Chapter 1

Author's Note:I do not own Vikings, and I write these for fun. Please do not sue me. Also, Dimitri is a character I have used in my other stories. He is from Lesbos, and he is not a nice person. This does not mean that I think all Lesbians are bad people...nor all tribads, for that matter! Not only that, but much of this story is about the aspects of sex that are NOT erotically titillating, but rather gruesome and tragic. The musical piece I recommend to go with this story is the Kullervoinen Suite, a tone poem by Sibelius derived on a poetic cycle from the Kalevala about why it is always a good idea to ask your sexual partner "Who's your daddy?"  
Ivar lay in the thatch, peering down through a crack into the room that had once been his mother's until Lagertha had murdered her. He'd listened to her chat with Astrid for over an hour, and now they were bumping uglies. "Scissor away, old trout...." he thought "then when you're all warm and sleepy---BA BAM!" His brothers had been no help at all, so he was up on the roof by himself, waiting until the two women slept. He had a lovely little knife tucked up his sleeve, sharper than the razor he'd shaved with that morning. Ivar licked a small cut just above his lip "This damned cut is starting to fester...." he thought. Then someone breathed on the back of his neck. It smelled like the person doing it had something terribly wrong with their digestive tract, and had consumed copious amounts of hooch laced with anise.   
"You've got a pretty moth," someone whispered in his ear.   
Another voice that sounded feminine and distinctly British said "Cut that out, Dimitri! We're here to straighten Ivar out, not bend him over. Have all the fun you want back in Lesbos, but here we're on a job.  
"Awwwww," said Dimitri "So this is the gimp they call Ivar Bonerless!"  
"It's Boneless!" said Ivar. "And I'll debone you, you big oik."  
"Those are mighty brave words for a gimp," said Dimitri. He had not been a handsome man even before some creature had savagely mauled him, but Ivar had never seen him before, nor the short, plump lady with the grey-green eyes and rather large leather sack. Then a small, brown furry creature popped out of the bag. "You're Sister Margurite, otherwise known as the Nasty Habit. Who's the hairy beast?"  
"That's Nutmeg." said Sister Peg.  
"I meant the other hairy beast that's holding me!"  
"His name is Dimitri of Lesbos," said Sister Peg. "None of his other nicknames are fit to repeat."  
Dimitri peered through the crack. "I guess watching other people get freaky is your thing. The blonde lady is too old and the younger one's too damn skinny, but you might learn to overcome some of your shortcomings." Dimitri held up his had with his fingers forked, and flicked his tongue between them."  
"Fuck you," said Ivar "You and everybody from Lesbos."  
"Don't knock Lesbos, it's a nice island," said Dimitri.  
"Anyway," said Ivar. "I'm going to kill those bitches. They murdered my mother, and don't try to stop me. Bitch Queen Lagertha is going to get what's coming to her."  
"It looks more like she's getting what's coming to her NOW," said Dimitri "Whoa, Nellie! Those tribads are really trying BAD!" He broke off, chortling.  
"You do know that that's why we're here," said Sister Peg. "To stop you from doing anything that will make Bjorn have to kill you. His wives sent us, after he departed from Constantinople post haste and failed to write back a month later. Thorunn feared that one or the other of you might have done something rash."  
"Um, excuse me," Ivar said to Dimitri "But I believe that your cock may be poking me in my back."  
"It's most likely that sausage I've had in my pocket since Riga...no, sorry. It was my cock."  
"Well, let go of me, you damn dirty Lesbian!"   
Dimitri pulled out his sausage, took a bite, chewed thoughtfully, and blew a cloud of foul breath in Ivar's face. "Do you want a bite of my sausage?" he asked  
"No!" said Ivar.  
"C'mon, eat my sausage. Eat it!" The sausage was thrust at ivar's mouth/  
"I do not like sausage," I var said as he began to strugle. "I never have!"  
"Ease up!" said Ssiter Peg. "Floki warned me about Ivar's temper. He's going to throw a world class tanty and wake up half of Kattegat if we don't shut him up. She rummaged in her bag. "No, not my thumbscrews...pliers....dental drill....hot wax..." A rather large dildo fell out. "I don't think I'll need that today," said Sister Peg. I got something newly made that I want to try out. It's called a scold's bridle. Here, Dimitri. Slip it over his head and fasten it in the back. Open wide, Ivar, or I will MAKE you open your mouth." She grabbed Ivar's nose and yanked his head back. His mouth opened and the metal bit of the scold's bridle slipped into his mouth. "The funny thing about the scold's bridle is that you can't talk and you can't open your mouth. It supposedly does no physical harm, but becomes incredibly painful after a few minutes. Now Dimitri is going to hogtie you, and we'll take you someplace where you will not be harmed, but you will not be able to harm anyone that Bjorn cares about. Do you understand?"  
Ivar moaned.  
"I guess that's a yess," said Dimitri. He took another bite of the tube of processed meat in his hand. "This really is a good sausage!"


	2. I Hate To Go A-Wandering

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Ivar is dragged across Europe, and learns a thing or two.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ganja is traditionally used to treat dysmenhorrea, and it works....but I don't condone the non-medicinal use of any drug.  
> Blood soup is a mixture of animal blood and milk, traditionally served in some Northern countries to small children, sickly people and pregnant women. It tastes awful, but it is probably healthier than a soy-based protein shake.  
> A mangle-wurzle is a species of large yellow beet....not to be confused with a mangonel, which is a type of small catapult!  
> Vinegar of the Four Thieves is a herbal disinfectant used since the Middle Ages, but I am not sure of its effectiveness.

Ivar hated his captors unequivocally for about a month, as they were stealthily ferried across by a boatload of Germans who were as terrified of Sister Peg as they were of being caught. Dimitri had removed the Scold's Bridle because Ivar had nearly choked on his own vomit, and as soon as it came off he scolded away like a fishwife.  
Sister Peg regarded him with eyes that were grey-green as dirty windowpanes, and revealed nothing. "That was a world-class tanty, Ivar. Do you feel better now?"   
"Fuck you," said Ivar "My jaw hurts, and I can't feel my fingers."  
"Do you want my sausage?" asked Dimitri. He thrust a large and phallic-looking knockwurst in Ivar's face.  
"Fuck you," said Ivar. "I'm going to puke again."  
They crossed Germany. After two weeks of Dimitri hauling Ivar in a handcart by day and trying to force-feed him various types of hog intestines filled with ground up pork, Ivar refused to eat at all so the Nasty Nun intubated him with a funnel and one of the drones from somebody's bagpipes and poured lukewarm cabbage soup down his throat, and after that he ate what he was fed without complaint. He tried to escape twice and attempted to kill Sister Margurite with his bare hands, but she had seen him coming and kicked him squarely in the forehead, rendering Ivar unconscious and leaving the mark of a hob-nailed sandal on his forehead. She was possibly the nastiest person Ivar had met aside from himself, and after three weeks he actually started to like Sister Peg, and decided she might be easier to deal with if he buttered her up.

Ivar fawned at Sister Margurite's feet like a dog, gazing up at her with big, blue eyes that were his best feature aside from his excellent teeth. "Peg me!" he said.  
Peg toked on the bong that she smoked for medicinal reasons at certain times of the month, and said "Fuck you, Ivar."  
"Exactly!" Ivar said. "Maybe I can't get it up, but there are other ways to...have fun. He held up two fingers and waggled his tongue between them.  
"You would not want to do that, Ivar. I'm on my monthlies.  
"I don't mind," Ivar said. "I don't think it would taste much different from blood soup, and I like blood soup."  
"You're a pig, Ivar."  
"Oink, oink." Ivar said, and snuffled at the nun's skirts. "I know that technically speaking, you would not be breaking your vow. You did it to Bjorn, so why not me?"  
The Bad Habit grinned down evilly. "I'm not going to do it simply because I KNOW you want it!"  
"You're a mean bitch," said Ivar.  
"I am, and I'm not going to deny it. It would be the worst sin of all to deny that I too am a sinner, but at any rate I think Eros is a crock of shit."  
"You've never had sex," said Ivar "so how would you know?"  
"I don't have to eat a durian fruit to know that it smells awful."  
"What in Hell is a durian fruit?"  
"It's a fruit that they have in India that looks and smells like what I imagine a dragon's testicles might. Some people love them, but I find them repulsive."  
"Am I as repulsive as they are?" Ivar asked.  
Sister Peg took another hit on her bong and shot Ivar a Meaningful Look. "No...you're worse."  
Ivar opened his eyes as wide as he could, assuming the sort of expression that would in a later century be associated with the paintings of Margaret Keane. He realized that the ganja that the little nun smoked to deal with her cramps might make her talkative, and Sister Peg talked for nearly three hours about India. She continued to toke, walk, and talk the next day until Dimitri threatened to put the Scold's Bridle on her, and as they wended across the Alps, the conversation wandered from places that Peg had been (she said that there was another range of mountains to the East that were taller and grander than the Alps, and that these were called the Himalayas) to the poetry of Catellus and the philosophy of Boethus and her youth in the Cumber Valley where she had grown up in a pub that was called the Raging Cock.  
"Hold on," said Ivar. "I remember that place. Some old bitch attacked Sigurd with a mangle-wurzle the last time we invaded England and he burnt that dump to the ground....sorry!"  
"That would have been my Great Aunt Apfelwiswen, so that makes at least two of my relatives you Norse fuckers have killed." Sister Margurite grinned tightly. "But what the fuck...life is transient and usually awful, so what's the point in getting angry about it?"  
"If it makes you feel any better," said Ivar "I got drunk and threw an axe at Sigurd, so your auntie has already been avenged."  
"You are a mean and cynical woman," said Dimitri. "Is there anything at all that makes you happy?"  
"I just try to make life a little less awful for some people," said Peg. "And I like storge. It's hard to mess up the love of a parent for his or her child, or love between siblings."  
"What about cousins?" Ivar asked innocently. "I know what you did to your cousin."  
Peg hissed between her teeth.  
"And what the fuck is storge, anyway?" asked Ivar.  
"What she said," explained Dimitri. "Storge is the love between family members. The Platonic philosophers consider it the simplest and most common form of love. Don't confuse it with eros, or it becomes incest, like in Oedipus Rex. I saw that play once, and I never want to see it again. Give me a nice comedy, with lots of tits and farting..." Dimitri rambled off into a monologue about the joys of commedia della arte that lasted for almost half an hour before the Nasty Nun threatened to put the Scold's Bridle on him. 

Sister Margurite also showed a remarkable talent for healing, because she treated the festering cut on Ivar's lip and the ones he got on his hands from thorns and small, sharp stones with a pungent liquid called the Vinegar of the Four Thieves, and she made Ivar a toothbrush out of a liquorice root and taught him how to use it. "You really do have a pretty mouth," she said "so try to keep it that way." Peg would also earn them food and extra clothing by healing people...old men with arthritis, children with rashes, and an alarming number of women with sore minges.  
"It happens," said Sister Peg. "Female anatomy is complicated, and these ladies don't always have the best hygiene or much respect for themselves. It's just sad, really."  
"I only ever tried to have sex with one girl," said Ivar. "She was some kitchen slut that my brothers were all humping. I asked to have a go, but my cock did not work. I threatened to kill her if she talked, but she went and told all of my brothers."  
Peg patted Ivar on his shoulder. "If she's humping all of your brothers, you're probably better off, because she's probably got crab lice...."   
At that point, Dimitri interrupted. "Hey! One of the villagers says there's been an accident, in which a young couple fell off a ladder trying to elope. He says the girl was pregnant."  
Sister Margurite hurried off, and returned with stains of blood on her wimple and smears on her cheek. She was carrying a shepherd's staff and two sheepskin coats, and looked extremely angry.  
"The man only had a few broken bones, and the girl's in worse shape, but she'll live. The baby, on the other hand....well, this is one of the reasons why I say eros is a crock of shit. The baby did not live, and it was awful, Ivar....you would probably be sick if you saw what I had to do."  
"I've seen men blood eagled," said Ivar.  
"This was worse, Ivar..." said Sister Peg. "But try the smaller coat on, and see if it fits."


	3. Crouching Ivar, Hidden Monkey

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which we encounter the dread Oo-Rang-u-Tang, and the situation becomes quite Darwinian until Peg throws in a little Kung Fu and a lot of Fuck You.

They descended into the Po valley, Peg behind Ivar and Dimitri like a small shepherdess with two very strange sheep, and joined a band of pilgrims on their way to Jerusalem. Ivar had been raised to think of Christians as dour, joyless and insipid people, and was surprised to learned that this was not always the case. They were joined by six monks from Kells who had walked across Europe kicking a soccer ball between them and chattering in Gaelic, three elderly ladies from Belleville who spat at Ivar and called him a "mauvais petit sauvage" if he got too close, a pack of cantankerous Germans, and a retired military captain named Corelli who played the mandolin. In short, a party of pilgrims en route to Jerusalem might be described as a multilingual cacophany on legs. They gave Ivar a tremendous headache, but there was good reason to stay with them because there was safety in large numbers...at least most of the time. One morning, just as the pilgrims were breaking camp, Captain Corelli suddenly stopped dead in his tracks.  
"ITS THE FUCKING HAN!" Captain Corelli shouted. "NOBODY MOVE! TRY NOT TO PANIC! THEY'RE LESS LIKELY TO KILL US IF WE DON'T RUN OR TRY TO FIGHT!"  
"What the fuck are Han?" Ivar asked.  
"They're like Vikings," said Sister Margurite "only equestrian, and a little bit smarter. This is not the time for one of your tanties, Ivar. Remember that the man who has few possessions laughs at thieves."  
Up rode the Tang clan, led by the dread Oo-Rang-u-Tang and his sons Kloon Tang and Pu-ti-Tang. The stench of horse and ball-sweat was indescribable, and as they dismounted and walked up the line of pilgrims divesting them of posessions that aside from Corelli's mandolin and some trinkets that the Belleville ladies had hidden in their petticoats did not amount to much. Ivar was aware that his own people had done the same thing to others, and he was now looking at the situation from the point of view of the oppressed rather than that of the oppressor, and hated it. The dread Kloon Tang gestured at Sister Peg to give him her bag, and she smiled a bit too sweetly and handed it to him. As he fumbled with the lacings of the bag, his brother Pu-ti Tang bent and stroked Ivar's face. Pu-ti was not a tall man, but he was strongly built, and he grinned nastily and said something in Han.  
"He says you got a pretty mouth," said Dimitri. Then Pu-ti unlaced his britches, grabbed Ivar by his hair and tried to jam his member in Ivar's mouth.  
"Don't fight him," said Dimitri. "He might let you live if you make him happy."  
Pu-ti had evidently not washed his genitals for a week, so Ivar could not help but gag. If Kloon tang had not figured out how to unfasten Margurite's bag at that very moment, Ivar's first genuine sexual experience would have been of fellating an unwashed nomad cock. He was fortunate that Nutmeg had been napping in Sister Peg's bag, and when the ape woke up in a really bad mood he flew straight at Kloon Tang's face. The Nasty Nun suddenly shrieked like an angry bobcat, leaped straight up in the air and struck O-Rang-u-Tang squarely on top of his head with her staff. Then she was leaping, kicking, hocking rocks at Han warriors with her staff and whirling like an angry windmill. Captain Corelli, the monks from Kells and the angry Germans all sprung into action, cursing and singing battle songs in three different languages.  
"I guess it's time to throw one of my famous tanties after all," Ivar thought, and he sunk his excellent teeth into Pu-ti Tang's member. The Han shrieked and dropped to his knees. Ivar groped for a weapon, but all he could find was Peg's Black Mamba, which he put to its intended purpose until Peg came up behind him and pinched his wrist until he dropped it.  
"Enough, Ivar," she said in his ear.  
"Grrrrrrr!" was all Ivar could say at first. Then, as he started to shiver uncontrollably, he asked "What in Hell did you just do?"  
"I used a little Kung Fu" said Sister Peg "and a whole lot of Fuck You."  
Dimitri handed Ivar the flask of ouzo that he kept in the inner pocket of his sheepskin jacket. "Use this to wash the taste of cock out of your mouth," he said, and Ivar took a swig and sloshed it around in his mouth.

"You're still shaking, Ivar" said Dimitri "You've been doing so off and on for a month."  
Ivar tried to smile "I'm all right."  
"No you're not," said Dimitri. "You've brushed your teeth so often that your gums are bleeding, and you're not getting enough sleep."  
"I said I was all right!" Ivar said "though my mouth still tastes funny."  
Dimitri sighed. "You acted in self-defense, and emerged unscathed, so count your blessings." He rubbed his scarred face. "Your half-brother did this to me in self-defense in a similar situation. Then he charged me with assault and kidnapping and I got a dose of my own medicine in prison. You'll live. In fact, it was because of your half brother that I found..."  
"Your innate heterosexuality?" Ivar chirped sarcastically "Well, good for you!"  
No," said Dimitri. "I still like cock, but I found Christ. I would only put my cock in your mouth if you wanted me to."  
Ivar's jaw dropped. He pushed his chin back up into place with his hand. After a while he said "I'm not exactly flattered, Dimitri....but whatever happens in Byzantium stays in Byzantium."


	4. What Happens In Byzantium

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Ivar arrives in Constantinople, gets examined, discusses his family's medical and genealogical history with Louhi Sariolan

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The actress who plays Astrid appears to be about 20 pounds under a healthy reproductive weight (which might suggest either an eating disorder or a hyperactive thyroid) and appears androgynous. This is considered desirable by many people in the 21st century, but was not considered so in the seventh century AD, because in those days it was well known that underweight women often produce babies with severe birth defects. The Kalevala contains particularly extensive information on the correct diet for girls and women of reproductive age, as well as the excerpt from the Kullervoinen Cycle quoted by Pekko.  
> Because my Latin is somewhat better than my Gaelic, I have decided to represent Bellona as a Latinized Celt, educated in the language most commonly used at that time. The Latin terms that she uses are STILL considered the CORRECT terminology for the actions she describes, and in my opinion are less offensive than the modern idiom!

"Damn it," said Ivar. "It's hot in here, and I need to piss."  
"You should not have had that granita," said Sister Margurite. "so try to hold it in."  
They had reached Constantinople on a hot, muggy day and Ivar had spent much of the afternoon cooking inside the litter that Dimitri had hired for him. Such vehicles were common here, the perogative of the wealthy, but Ivar would have preferred to scuttle along of his own accord.  
"Piss in the cup," said Dimitri.  
Ivar did so, then tried to throw it at Dimitri but missed, spattering an old woman who gave Ivar the "fig" gesture. Ivar forked his fingers and flicked his tongue at her. "You want some, Granny?" he asked. The old woman scowled, and shambled away.  
"Behave, Ivar," said Dimitri "Or I'll put the bridle on you." Dimitri tugged Sister Peg's sleeve. "Where is this Eastern Promises bath house, anyway?"  
"It's near the Goldsmith's Quarter." said Sister Peg.  
"Oooo, posh!" said Dimitri. "They probably won't let me in."   
"Don't worry, I'll pay when we get there," said Sister Peg. "And here it is." The litter stopped in front of a large building with pillars in the form of voluptuous women out front, and benches. On one bench sat two large, ugly men in monk's robes, and on the other Floki sat with a very tall girl with auburn hair who was built like one of the caryatids and was suckling not one but two small children with ginger curls. Ivar stared at her freckled breasts in a manner he knew was extremely rude, but could not help.  
"Hullo, Ivar," said Floki. "I see that you have arrived safely. How was your journey?"  
"I was abducted and dragged across the Alps by a savage nun and a big, ugly Lesbian, then a nomad tried to rape my face, but outher than that I'm fine, Floki. How are you? My guess is that you're aging badly."  
Floki giggled. "I am. Now Bellona, dear...say 'ave" to your half brother in law."  
The red haired girl stood, handed her babies to the Tir Manannan Twins and curtsied.   
"She doesn't speak much Norse," said Floki. "but she was educated at Kildare, and knows a bit of Latin."  
Ivar leaned in and sniffed. Bellona smelled like breast milk. "So this is the girl that Lagertha refers to as 'that foreign hussy. Well, if Bjorn doesn't want her, can I have her?"  
"Given that Bjorn's mum once asked a member of the Catholic clergy to help double-team her, she's in no position to refer to any other woman as a 'hussy', foreign or otherwise!" said George.  
"Bellona is a nice girl," said Lucas. "In Caledonia we teach girls to have self respect."  
"That's not what I heard," said Ivar. "I heard they're man eaters."  
"Only if they like you," said George. "Get inside and get naked. You stink."

The calidarium at Eastern Promises was faced in red marble, that looked as though the walls were made from smoked meat, and it was dimly lit and extremely hot. Figures appeared in the mist, some of whom resolved into people that Ivar recognized, starting with the six men who looked like the same man at different ages and one tiny woman who had wrapped her head in a towel and wore multiple necklaces made from organic materials, but aside from that Kyllikylli and the rest of the Taapiolan family were naked, so Ivar craned his neck to avoid the row of penises at his eye level. A particularly wizened crone occupied the top bench, squatting like an albino crow with the same silver eyes that Kylli had....she was perhaps an elderly relative of the Taapiolan clan, and Ivar was sure that this was the same woman he had thrown piss at earlier that day. Beside her sat a young woman who had a large blue towel draped over her head, but Ivar could see that under the towel the lady's face was badly scarred.  
"Holy shit!" he squeaked. "I remember you, Thorunn. You used to change my diapers! Who's the hag....Granny Old age? Ya know, I still got some of what I offered earlier, if she wants it....." Ivar's grin faded, because the elderly lady had just looked him straight in the eye, and it was like falling through the ice on the fjord back home.  
"Ivar Lothbrook, aka Ivar Boneless, Ivar Bonerless, Ivar the Gimp, and Ivar who Won't Shut The Fuck Up, I presume?" she asked. "Welcome to Constantinople. I see that you don't know who I am, but I am Louhi Sariola, Lady of Pojala, Mistress of Song, Moon Thief, and That Terrible Woman."  
"I still don't know who you are," said Ivar. "except that I threw piss at you earlier today."  
"You ruined a perfectly good pashima shawl, but I am not overly concerned about that," said Louhi. "I'm concerned about your half brother Bjorn. He went back to Kattegat with your mother when your brothers agreed to follow his terms and started rebuilding the town. Then your father returned briefly before he decamped for England..."  
"Where he as urdered," said Ivar. "Then Bjorn's bitch mother showed up again and murdered my mother. My brothers and I agreed with Bjorn that Father had to be avenged first, but after that things went to the dogs....or rather, to the bitches. Bjorn's mother has a Special Friend now, and she and Torvig and Bitch Queen Lagertha were ruling the roost until Torvig got shot."  
"I'm sad to hear that," said Kylli. "I rather liked her...but yeah, I met Lagertha's partner before I lit out for the territories, and that bitch ain't right. She's conniving, arrogant, and not particularly bright and given the fact that she's young enough to be Lagertha's daughter she's probably just screwing Lagertha to gain power over her."  
"And Bjorn...she screws him too. The big buckethead seems to be besotted with her bony ass," said Ivar. "It's hard to watch. I myself like a girl with a nice, round juicy bottom because down where I am that's really all I can see." He made Big Eyes at Thorunn. "I'm sorry to be so crude, but Bjorn thinks with his cock too."  
"You're full of shit, Ivar!" said Sister Peg.  
"At any rate, Bjorn is the biggest mama's boy since the beginning of time, he's letting her and her Special Friend lead him around by his dick. That Astrid is..."  
At this point, Bellona interrupted him "....una puta malodorata, et fellatrix, et cervixa majore!" She had not spoken loudly, but Byzantine baths had excellent acoustics, so her voice echoed. She paused as though ashamed of herself. "'scuse....muy mala, mea culpa..." and ran out into the frigidarium, from whence came a loud splash.  
"Wow," said Sister Margurite. "Does she take Holy Communion with that mouth?"  
"Well," said Louhi. "There's no fault in calling someone a puta if she uses her minge for profit or personal gain, though in this case the term 'cunnilinguista' would be more appropriate than 'fellatrix'."  
"What in Hell is a 'cunnilinguista'?" Ivar asked.  
Louhi forked her fingers and flicked her tongue between them. "Not to be confused with a cunning linguist." she added.  
From the other room came the sounds of Bellona splashing and grumbling. Floki peered out through the door. "She really needs to cool down," he said. "and at any rate, Ivar, we needed to get you out of Kattegat for your own good."  
"THAT MENOPAUSAL MURDERESS KILLED MY MOTHER!" Ivar's voice boomed throughout the bath house."  
We know," said Floki. "Your mother told us."  
"To tell the truth," said the voice of Ivar's dearly departed mother "I found the Afterlife to be a little bit different from what I expected. Hello Ivar, please don't panic. You know who I am." The voice seemed to come from all directions at once, then Ivar realized that it had issued from Kyllikylli's mouth.  
"I suppose that I have some explaining to do," said the voice of Asslaug, the deceased Queen of Norway.

"The thing you must know is that your father and I have spent the past few years ensuring that all of you boys would have lots of healthy babies. My plan was to surround you with slave girls of exceptional beauty who possessed sweet and amiable natures and what you aptly refer to as "nice, round juicy bottoms" because a large posterior is indicative of high fertility. Your father, on the other hand, sought out noble ladies of distinguished pedigree, and Princess Bellona was chosen for Bjorn because as your father put it she is built like a stone privy, smart as a whip, and horny as a mink. He'd bull her himself if he could."  
Ivar peered out the door just as Bellona crested the waters of the frigidarium like a porpoise. "Well, if Bjorn doesn't want her, can I have her...." he asked  
"Of course not," said his mother's voice. "You have...problems that need to be sorted out...."  
"Like your small ding a ling" said the Nasty Nun. "It don' always ring."  
Ivar shot her a Meaningful Look.  
"At any rate, your half brother fouled everything up by bulling Jarl Borg's idiot widow and then this Astrid girl that his mother dredged up. You did not help things by shoving Sigi Minor off that bridge, Ivar."  
"Hey," said Ivar "I was ten years old! We were playing, and..." He paused and did the Big Eyes thing at Thorunn. "I'm sorry."  
"The truth of the matter is that Torvig was a pain in my ass, but Astrid is much worse. She's Floki's cousin on the distaff side, but it was not until Ragnar and I were both dead that he admitted to possibly being her father, because while Lagertha was knocked up with Gyda, Ragnar and rollo were double-teaming Floki's aunt."  
Ivar's jaw dropped, and he propped it back up with his hand. "That's like something out of a Greek play I heard about!"  
"Or the Kullervoinen Cycle, said Hanno "It's one of the songs my family likes to sing on long winter nights."  
"VOI, POLOINEN PAIVIANI! VOIPA KURJA KUMMIAINI! VOI KUNPI'IN SISARUENI TURMALIN EMONI TUOMAN!" Pekko's voice boomed and rumbled in the vaults of the bath house like thunder in the mountains.  
"They get birth defects," said Ivar "though I don't know what caused my gimp legs, because I know my Mother and Father weren't related."  
"Your problem has appeared in the Lothbrook family," said his mother's shade "though no child with it has ever survived long enough to have babies of their own. But did anyone ever tell you who your grandfather was?"  
Ivar shook his head.   
"Your father's father is named Ivar the Blind," said Floki. "People call him the Seer."  
Ivar's jaw dropped.   
"Your grandmother was called Aino the Mad," said Floki. He flokked about, and added "Ragnar got his personality and looks from her."  
"So Sigurd and I aren't the only freaks in the family," said Ivar. "In a way, I'm almost relieved."  
"Don't be, " said the ghost of Queen Asslaug. "But as you can see, Lagertha has brought down upon her head more terrible than you or I could ever devise because she didn't have the sense to keep her skinny bitch off her son's pole. But you have other issues to deal with, including a complete medical exam to determine exactly what is wrong with your nether regions. We may have to do a rectal examination as well."  
Ivar's jaw dropped even further. "No....Mother....please!" He tried to scuttle away but the Taapiolans grabbed him.  
"This is for your own good," said Floki. "If you want, I can hold your hand."  
Ivar screamed for help, but no one seemed to be disturbed by his yells.

Louhi said that she only put a finger in his anus, but Ivar was convinced that she had thrust her entire hand in there and was wiggling her fingers to boot.  
"Well, aside from the microphallus and the undescended testicle, your genitals seem to be normal. Moreover, there is no evidence of spina bifida...perhaps you suffered some other form of trauma in utero or at birth. Can you feel this?"  
Ivar felt a tingling sensation roughly three inches inside his anus that bloomed into warmth and spread to his genitals. He bit his lip, as all the angry, pent-up sperm in his testes rushed to the nearest exit. "Damn," he thought "My first orgasm in the presence of others is with Granny Old Age's fingers up my arse and Floki the Freak holding my hand." Ivar grunted, and started to sob "What did you do, you sick old bitch?"  
"I directly stimulated your Second Chakra," said Louhi. "The fact that you ejaculated suggests that whatever injury prevents you from walking is below that chakra. Perhaps your problem in that regard is psychosomatic. Are you stressed, Ivar."  
"I'm angry," said Ivar.  
"That might be why you can't get it up," said Louhi. "Anger is a boner killer."  
"I think it's the other way around," said Ivar "because I get angry when I can't get it up."  
"Suit yourself," said Louhi. Do you have any more questions?"  
"One," said Ivar. "If the dead can speak through Kylli, can I talk to Father?"  
Kyllikylli shook her head and removed her towel to remove a smoothly-shaven head. "This is what your father did the last time I let him speak through me. I din't even want to talk about the piercing, other than that it's in a private area, and I hope it does not get infected."


	5. L'Chaim!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Ivar invades the Cohen family's Passover seder

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Yo!" is one of the few Finnish words that has entered North American vernacular (the others are the "-ola" suffix in words like Shinola and Movieola, and of course "sauna") It means exactly the same in Finnish as it does in gangsta slang.  
> Catellus wrote several wedding songs whose lyrics were rather filthy...the O' Dirty Bastard of Ancient Rome. Castrati, on the other hand, were the In Sync or Backstreet Boys of ancient and early Classical music!  
> Viking tomb artifacts (including silk fragments and a small bronze Buddha statue) suggest that they reached India and China as well as travelling to Newfoundland several centuries before Marco Polo or Columbus.

By the time the others emerged from the calidarium, Bellona had calmed down and towelled off, and was lying on her stomach on a bench with her auburn hair spread out across her freckled back and formidable rump. As redheads usually do no matter where they go, she generated a considerable Zigfield effect, even after she put her dress back on. As Floki went to hail a litter for Ivar, a middle-aged gentleman approached Pekko. "I heard you singing. Are you part of a musical group?"  
The Seven Suomi looked at each other and grinned. "YO!" they answered in perfect unison.  
"Do you know any of Catellus's wedding songs? My niece is getting married, and she'd like the song whose refrain runs "Hymen, o hymenae, Hymen ades o hymenae" sang at her wedding."  
"We're not familiar with that one, but I think we can learn it in about a week," said Kylli.  
"Splendid!" said the middle-aged gentleman. "There's nothing like a classic song like 'Hymen o Hymenae" for a wedding. One word of advice though....that poor castrato of yours sounds a bit hoarse. What on earth what he trying to sing?"  
Floki clamped his hand over Ivar's mouth. "It's a new composition called 'Help!'" he said. "We're still working on it."

"Shhhh!" said Floki as they approached the doors of the House of the Cohenim. "Bjorn and I do this every Passover, but the Cohens like to pretend that it's still a surprise. Here comes the Imperial litter to pick up Thorunn."  
A litter with purple-bordered curtains turned the corner and Thorunn got in. As the litter departed, the curtains opened, and a small girl peered out. She had long black hair and Mediterranean features, but her eyes were Norse.  
"Hello, Killer...." said Zoe, the Grand Imperial Princess of Constantinople, and the hair on the back of Ivar's neck prickled. Then the curtains closed, the litter departed, and he felt he could breathe again. He followed Floki through the open door to a courtyard where an elegantly dressed family were seated around a table piled with food....flat bread, bitter herbs, a very nice leg of lamb, a sort of salad with apples and raisins, and a few other items that Ivar could not identify. There were two older men, a younger man with curly hair and a rather pleasant face, two older women (one of whom had a dour expression that Ivar thought was unpleasantly like that of Queen Lagertha) and three young women who stared and giggled.  
"L'chaim, everyone!" cried Floki. "Please don't be alarmed. This is just Ivar the Boneless, son of Ragnar Lothbrook, brother of Bjorn Ironside!"  
There was a moment of stunned silence as Ivar scuttled up to the table, grabbed a loaf of flat bread, ripped off a chunk and shoved it in his mouth, smiling and making Big Eyes at the Cohen sisters the whole time. "Oy vey!" said Barack Cohen after a while. "I think I'd better go roll up the carpets!"

Dawn broke to the strains of the Seven Suomi learning the words to "Hymen o Hymenae" from Sister Margurite. They had recruited the aid of the Cohen sisters, their mother and their aunt to make up a Dirty Dozen, but had elected not to change the name of the band. It was a scene that Ivar would have appreciated better had he not woken with a ferocious hangover. He moaned like a sexually frustrated bull moose, and muttered "Oy vey!" He'd learned the term the night before and it seemed appropriate to the situation.  
"Good morning!" chirped Sister Peg, who had prudently restricted her alcohol intake to two glasses of wine the night before, and was well rested and fresh as a daisy. "You look like shit on a stick, Ivar."  
"I feel like shit on a stick," Ivar said. "So leave me alone. One question, Peg...what are you going to do now that I've been mogodored by Granny Old Age....sell me to a travelling freak show? I think I'd fetch a handsome price!"  
"I'm going to take you to a place where people can help you, Ivar. You'll never be able to walk, but there are ways to control your anger. Let me think...most of the places in Europe are too close to the sea, and I don't want you escaping and finding your way home. Then there's Nad Hammadi in the Sudan, Irem in the Rubh al-Khali, and Pohjala on the steppes, but they probably won't want to bother with you. I think Shambala would be the place to hide you for w winter or two, because the bonzes there would be more likely to put up with you than any other organizations."  
"Bonzes?" asked Ivar.  
"They're like monks," said Sister Margurite "Only they're Buddhist rather than Christian."  
"What's the difference?" asked Ivar.  
"A good Christian faces adversity by trying to understand and love their persecutors. A Buddhist, on the other hand, regards all hardship as illusory, and just does not give a shit."  
"Do you love your enemies, Peg?" Ivar asked.  
Sister Margurite grinned tightly. "I never said I was a good Christian, did I?" At any rate, the next Silk Road caravan starts in three days."


	6. The Sea of Fire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Ivar and company circle the Rubh al Khali, discover the secret ingredient in Yidu's special medicine, and reach the Bridge of Terror.

They loaded Ivar into a howdah on the back of a camel and headed towards the rising sun, circling around a vast expanse of sand that hissed and rippled like the sea. He learned that this desert was called the Rubh al Khali, or Sea of Fire. "So THAT'S what the seer meant by the Sea With No Tides.....and I found it! Incredible! Incredible!" He realized that the world was much bigger and far more beautiful than it had seemed when he had been scuttling about in the thatch back in Kattegat, dreaming only of revenge. Suddenly, Ivar began to laugh, whooping like the hyenas that sometimes sniffed around the camp at night.  
"What is that emented cripple laughing about?" asked Abdul al Hasred, who led the caravan. "Has he been smoking ganja, or has the heat driven him mad?""  
"He's laughing at himself," said Dimitri. "Ivar Boneless, son of Ragnar Lothbrook the Wrath of God has realized that his life is a joke, and that he himself is the punchline."  
"I think that you have been smoking ganja," said Abdul al Hasred.  
Dimitri toked on the bong he had stolen from Sister Margurite. "Yup."  
"You people are all crazy," said Abdul al Hasred, before he too started cackling.

After several months, they reached the foothills of the Himalayas, and the air became cooler as the desert gave way to fields and fields of flowers. When the petals of these flowers fell, the heads swelled into large green balls and the farmers cut slits into these balls and collected the milky sap that oozed from them. One day, Ivar saw an old woman smoking something in a long pipe with a silver bowl shaped like one of these flower heads. The smoke smelled like the special medicine that Yidu used to prepare for Ivar's father....in fact, this crone looked as though she could have been Yidu's grandmother.  
"She's smoking the joy plant," said Sister Margurite. "It's useful for pain, but very dangerous. Some people get addicted to it, and a large enough dose can kill even one who is young and healthy. I need to purchase some, but don't let Dimitri steal it like he does with my ganja." Sister Peg clutched her lower belly. "Damn! Dysmenhorrea is an absolute bitch!"  
Ivar made Big Eyes at her "Do you want me to rub your tummy?" he asked.  
"Fuck you, Ivar," snapped the Nasty Nun.

By the time they passed through the Vale of Omuruz, the nights were shorted and much, much colder. Dimitri suffered from nose bleeds, but otherwise he seemed in excellent spirits, as he had discovered the vendors who sold treats from carts.  
"Want some squabs on a stick?" he asked Ivar.  
"No, I do not want squabs on a stick," said Ivar.  
"C'mon!" said Dimitri. "They're good! Try a bite of my....oh, good God, what is that awful stench?"  
Ivar sniffed, and nearly vomited.  
"I think someone just cut open a durian fruit," said Sister Peg. "Do you remember what I said about not having to eat one to know that they smell awful? Anyway, we're close to the Bridge of Terror. The gentleman over there in the orange robes eating the aforementioned durian fruit is one of the brothers."  
There was indeed a shaven-headed gentleman in orange robes seated nearby, eating what looked like a dragon's testicle. "Ask him to take you to the Bridge of Terror after he's finished his lunch" said Sister Margurite. "I'm going to winter in this village because they don't allow women at Shambala. Good luck, Ivar. I hope to see you in the Spring." 

The storm had howled across the steppes from Siberia and up into the mountains, and it made the Bridge of Terror shriek and tremble as though it was alive and terrified that it would tear loose and go crashing into the River of Tears below. Moreover, the storm had brought freezing rain that turned the brightly-hued prayer flags that wayfarers hung from the high piers at each end into rigid, clattering sticks and made the timbers underfoot icy. The bonze (who had not given Ivar his name) tied a new prayer flag to the gate, and said "The safest way through any peril is on your knees." and began to inch his way across as his offering began to stiffen.  
"I am NOT going to cross that thing," said Dimitri. "I am terrified of heights."  
Ivar looked down at the River of Tears, then up at Dimitri, then at the bonze who was already halfway across. He did not want to admit to Dimitri that he too was afraid of heights, or that he had pushed Little Sigi to her death from a bridge that was closer more sturdily built than this one, and much closer to the ground. "Then go back, Dimitri," he said "But get out of my way on the path of Enlightenment!" Then he scuttled across the Bridge of Terror, yelling like an angry bobcat.


	7. The Steppe Shlep

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Ivar and Company shlep back to Norway a year after their arrival in Tibet

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There are differing opinions as to weather the Vikings believed the world was a curved disc (like a shield) or a cylinder (the bole of an immense tree) but they did NOT believe that it was flat!  
> "Gwailo"is Chinese for "white ghost"."Hijra" and "pithamarda" are Sanskrit words for members of a certain profession that apparently considers the Latin words for their trade offensive....I'm not sure, but I think Asian people are a bit less Politically Correct than North Americans!

The next spring, Ivar crawled down the road from the Bridge of Terror like a lost and rather filthy sheep in search of his fold. Here and there he met a wayfarer, and rattled the begging bowl that His Holiness the Laughing Lama gave him, and usually the pilgrims would toss a small coin or a bit of food in it, and he would grin broadly and bless them. Some times, however someone would glimpse his creepy blue gwailo eyes and mutter about dirty foreign devils. Then Ivar would just grin even wider, which would terrify them even more, and they would sometimes turn back and make a large donation before running away. He crawled through the gates of the village where he knew Sister Margurite was staying and into the courtyard of a reputable tea house, then up the back stairs to where one of the cooks was giving birth. He watched curiously as a young woman lay splay-legged and panting, engaged in the final stages of a process that had begun with her in a similar position nine months earlier....though presumably the lady had enjoyed the beginning of the process somewhat more than the end! Margurite was there to help, and the cook eventually gave birth to a healthy baby boy.  
"Hullo, Peg!" said Ivar. "Now that you're no longer up to your elbows in somebody's minge, can we talk?"  
Sister Margurite laved her hands first in water than in Four Thieves Vinegar. "You're not supposed to be in here Ivar," she said "This is strictly lady stuff. I guess you couldn't hack it at Shambala, then?"  
"It was hard," Ivar said "but I did not leave because of that. I think it's time we headed home, because I had a dream in which I was flying above Midgard, so high that I could see that it was curved, and while the Himalayas were at my feet I could see the Sea of Fire, and Byzantium and Germania and Frankia and England and some islands to the West that I could not identify, but my eyes were drawn to Norway, where the snows were red with blood, and I heard Father chanting in Latin even though I don't think he could speak that language at all. I can't remember it all, but..."  
"Did he say 'Nascatur magus Bjorn et Astrid nefando cunigo et discat Nordicum aruspicium....?" asked Sister Margurite. "Nam magus ex frater et soer gignator oportet siurea est Nordum impia religio...gnatus ut accepto venerer carmine diuos omentum in flamma pingue liquefaciens? I had almost the same dream, only it was my Great Aunt Apfelwiswen who spoke, and she did not speak Latin either. It's actually a poem by Catellus with a few words changed, and I know what it means. I think Bjorn's habit of thinking with his cock has gotten him in trouble."   
The normal, healthy infant that was the child of a Chinese cook and a Tibetan drover burst into a hearty, healthy wail, and Ivar shuddered. "Do you think we can make it back to Norway in nine months?" he asked.

"I had the same dream," said Dimitri after Ivar had found him happily wallowing in a den of iniquity in Mumbai. "Only in my case it was my Aunt Phryne, who ran a bookstore back home. She was more into Sappho than Catellus, and she was a damn fine woman even if she wore too much eyeliner and kept a dozen cats who ate her after she died. He kissed the hijra that shared his bed on the on the cheek. "Gotta go, sweetheart. Whether you are a man or a woman I think you're a damn fine lay."  
"You still gotta pay me, " said the hijra. "Fifty rupees, or I call the pithamarda."  
Dimitri paid up, grinning broadly. "Let's go, then." They loaded Ivar up on a camel and took the next Silk Road caravan that went North by Northwest across Uzbekhistan until they reached the Urals, where they met with a roiling cloud of dust from which there emerged a hoard of Han on their sturdy ponies, led by the dread Oo-rang u-Tang and his sons.  
"Frig!" said Ivar. "I'm gonna get unwashed nomad cock shoved in my face again!"  
But the dread Oo-rang u-Tang was grinning genially. "I would like to thank you for teaching my son Pu-ti a lesson in humility," he said. "In fact, he begs you to do it again, because he liked it very much."  
Dimitri translated this, and winked at Ivar. "I think he likes your big blue eyes and pretty mouth," he said.  
"Either that," said Ivar "or he is a raging paraphiliac."He sighed and bit his lip. "The things that people do for love...."


	8. Tainted Love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Ivar and Company return to Norway, and Sister Peg asks his brothers "So tell me, punks....do you feel itchy?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The idea that Vikings indulged in the sort of sexual tomfoolery that they do on the show and yet never got sexually transmitted diseases or pubic lice is just plain ridiculous!

The dread )00-rang u-Tang accompanied Ivar and his friends as far as Riga, and because the snow had begun to fall again, he gave them a fine sled stocked with food and a decent coat for Ivar because the second-hand sheepskin coat that he had crawled in from the Alps to Shambala and back was filthy and falling apart. The new coat was also of sheepskin, but new and of excellent quality, fluffy and jet-black. "I feel like a wolf in sheep's clothing, Peg." he said.  
"Better that than a lost lamb," said Sister Margurite "or a pack mule. Speaking of which, here's Dimitri....oh, good God what is that thing?"  
"It's a reindeer," said Dimitri. "I traded it for a camel, because they're supposed to be better suited for cold climates....and tastier, too. I'm not partial to eating camel meat, to tell the truth."   
The reindeer regarded Peg with dark, wet eyes. "That is one funny-looking animal," she said. "It's even weirder than that camel. Well, we really are a funny-looking bunch, anyway. I guess that if we're strange enough looking people will mistake us for a pack of escaped lunatics and leave us alone.  
"We're headed for Kattegat," said Ivar. "It'll take a lot of work to convince people that we're crazier than the people who actually live there."

After a couple of months travelling by sled, the trio reached a ford that Ivar recognized. The river had iced over, but was cracking a bit under the weight of the sleigh, so they had to get out and clamber across the step-stones that allowed those who traveled on foot to cross without getting wet. As he crossed, something in the woods cuckooed, followed by a goose-like honk.  
"Even I know that the geese have all flown south and the cuckoos don't call until Spring," Ivar said. "So come out of the woods you bucketheads!"  
"We thought you were dead!" said Ubbe.  
"Well I'm surprised to find you two idiots still alive," said Ivar. "How are things in Kattegat?"  
"We left soon after the snow started to fall. Things are bad there, Ivar...Lagertha put so many people to work on those fortifications of hers that the crops weren't brought in on time, and there was an ergot infestation, and the hogs got sick and had to be put down. We took to the woods and people started following us, but not so many now as there were before Astrid got the bright idea of hanging deserters. Bjorn's still in there...he just won't leave his mother, not since he got Astrid pregnant. I don't know what's wrong with him...'scuse me." Ubbe paused, put his hand down his pants and scratched. "That's better."  
Hvitserk had scrambled down, and was curiously fiddling with Sister Margurite's wimple "Who is this dame and is she really a nun?"  
"I'm the Bitch who Buggered Bjorn," said Sister Peg. "so leave my ears alone!"  
"What's in the bag?" asked Hvitserk.  
"You don't want to know," said Peg. Something in the bag was wriggling and making peculiar noises. "Nutmeg, stop that!"  
Hvitserk let go. "You're a volva, right? That thing is some sort of imp, and if I let him out of the bag he'll hex me and....'scuse me...." He too put his had down his pants and scratched.  
Sister Peg regarded him curiously. "How long have your private parts itched like that?"  
"Since last summer," said Hvitserk.  
Peg pointed at Ubbe with her chin. "He's itchy too?"  
Hvitserk nodded.  
"Have you been intimate with the same girl?" asked Peg. "If so, I'd like to examine both of you and her for pubic lice, and a few....other complaints. Have you any unusual sores or discharges lately?"  
"Um....said Hvitserk. "I won't show you my genitals You're a nun."  
"I'm also a physician. Trust me, I don't get any pleasure from looking at other people's genitals."  
Hvitserk leaned in and whispered "Father once told me he once asked a monk to help double-team his bitch of a first wife. The fellow must have had some balls to say no."  
"I know," said Sister Margurite. "Aethelstan was my cousin. I was why he went to Lindisfarne in the first place."  
Nutmeg suddenly popped out of the bag, brandishing the Black Mamba, and scuttled off shrieking.  
"I'll show you my genitals if you let me see your ears," said Hvitserk. Why do nuns cover them up?"  
"The Prioress told me it was because Our Lord was conceived when the Holy Spirit entered the Blessed Virgin's ear in the form of a dove."  
"Your God was born because a ghost in the shape of a dove fucked a girl in the ear?" Hvitserk chortled.  
"Peg nodded."  
"That's fucking weird!"  
"And how were YOUR gods conceived?" asked Peg.  
"The usual way, I suppose," said Hvitserk. "The god Frey is said to be extremely well endowed."  
"Well, If I find my way to Valhalla," said Peg. "I'll check him for crab lice too."

Sister Peg not only examined Ivar's brothers, but everyone who had followed them out of Kattegat. There were several cases of lice, two of gonhorrea, and Harald Finehair had come back from Byzantium with an infected piercing on his foreskin.  
"Whatever possessed you to get one of THESE?" asked Sister Peg.  
"I thought my princess would like it," said Harald. "The only woman I ever loved. She married someone else, so I killed her husband and she came at me with a knife." Big tears rolled down his tattooed face. "My brother was right about her!"  
"Well...Catellus said something very appropriate to this situation" said Peg. "It translates as 'Love and hate....don't ask me why, but they will both fuck you up!"  
"This Catellus was a wise man," said Harald. "Was he one of your saints?"  
"Not by a long shot," said Peg. "He was a pagan and a bisexual. Clean this with Vinegar of the Four Thieves, and rub it with honey mixed with liquorice and it should heal....and pray to whatever god you like that you don't have hepatitis!"  
"What is hepatitis?" asked Harald.  
"It's a disease spread by dirty tattoo and piercing equipment and sexual contact. It destroys your liver and there's no cure. I'm just bloody suprised tjat you don't ALL have it."  
"I only ever loved my princess, and she did not love me," said Harald. "So I suppose I'm really a fortunate man."  
At that point Hvitserk came up behind Sister Peg and started tickling her ears. "Cooo....cooo...cooo!" he whispered."  
"Fuck off! snarled Sister Peg. "I should NEVER have explained the Immaculate Conception to you, arsehole!"  
Hvitserk chortled, and ran off.


	9. Be It Ever So Humble There's No Place Like Hell

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Ivar returns home to Kattegat, and discovers that things have gone horribly wrong

The new ramparts of Kattegat had started out as an imposing gatehouse, but Ivar could see that as the resources and strength of the town dwindled, so did the strength and height of its new walls, then finally the builders had gone back and built gibbets along the walls near the gate. From these hung corpses of men, women and even children....in fact, one of the women whose frozen flesh swung in the breeze above the gate was apparentl pregnant.  
"Oh, Sweet Mother Mary!" said Dimitri when he looked up at the dead woman's face. Her eyes had been pecked out by crows, but other than that her corpse had been preserved by the cold, and she had had a simple, homely peasant woman's face. "You people are fucking barbarians! No civilized man would do such a thing! This is why we Greeks don't let women rule!"  
"Have you read Die Causus Bello, or Flavius Josephus's Annals of the Jewish War?" asked Sister Margurite. "Caesar did shit like this, and so did Alexander, and they were considered civilized men!""I don't think Bjorn authorized this, and maybe his mother didn't either," said Ivar. "It's the Twat with Tattooed Tits who's running things now, and I'm praying to any god that may be listening that my half-brother is still alive in there. Whup!"  
A girl who looked as though she was already half dead from hunger stood above the gates with a bow. She shrieked at them, but her words were lost on the wind.  
"HULLO! Ivar shouted back. "IS BJORN AT HOME? TELL HIM HIS HALF-BROTHER IVAR IS HERE, WITH FOOD AND A MIDWIFE!"  
The girl stood, staring and swaying as though she did not comprehend what Ivar was saying.  
"YOU'RE HUNGRY, YES?" Shouted Sister Margurite. "I KNOW THAT THERE'S A WOMAN IN THERE WHO NEEDS MEDICAL ASSISTANCE! OPEN THIS DOOR, OR I LEAVE WITH THIS SLED AND YOU CAN ALL STARVE!" The wind snatched at her wimple and habit, lifting them up and out so that she looked more like a Valkyrie than a bride of Christ. "yOU PEOPLE MAY THINK IT'S GRAND TO DIE IN BATTLE, BUT REFUSING FOOD AND MEDICAL AID IS TOO STUPID EVEN FOR YOU!"  
There seemed to be a whispered conversation going on behind the row of shields that hung above the gates, then the gate creaked open.  
"We're in," said Dimitri. "Thank God...or perhaps the dictates of hunger and human biology!"  
They heard what might have been a woman screaming in agony.  
"I think that's a sign that it is time to scuttle," said Ivar. "Or maybe it's just the wind."

It was difficult to recognize the gaunt figure hacking up furniture in Kattegat's Great Hall as Bjorn Ironside, aka One Big Son of a Bitch, son of Ragnar Lothbrook, because in the past year or so Bjorn had had his entire torso covered in tattoos, gained about twenty pounds and then lost almost forty, so that his skin hung a bit loose and the tattoos had warped, and one of the more recent ones on his lower back had become badly infected. He was half naked in the near-freezing Hall, and he stank of sweat and sour mead which suggested that he had neglected his daily sauna, and his fingernails were chipped and dirty and his hair had come out of its usual neat plait, but he smiled sadly and greeted his brother politely.  
"What have those savage bitches done to him," asked Dimitri. "He was as beautiful as a statue of Apollo....it's like he's been vandalized!"  
"Hullo," said Bjorn. "I'm sorry, but I don't remember meeting you at all."  
"I'm Dimitri. I...well, I'm sorry for what I did, but if you hadn't bitten me and then run away and charged me with assault and kidnapping, I would never have gone to prison and found Christ, so I'm actually in your debt."  
"She shows up in the strangest places, doesn't she?" asked Bjorn. "She's dead, but she comes back." He chuckled softly. "I hope to see Her again, don't you?"  
"Um, yeah..." said Dimitri. "I hope so too." He was a little confused by Bjor's use of the femiine pronoun in reference to Christ, but let it slide.  
Ivar hugged his half-brother's knees.  
"Where have you been, Ivar?" asked Bjorn.  
"I've been across the Alps, and the Sea of Fire, and up on the Roof of the World," said Ivar. "But I'll talk about it later. You look like shit on a stick, Bjorn. When did you have your last sauna?"  
"Two weeks ago," said Bjorn. "We were running short on wood, but Astrid went into labor just after sunrise, and Mother says..."  
"Your mother isn't the best person to assist in a birth, Bjorn....but sweet Mother of Mercy, that girl's been in labor for six hours already?"  
Bjorn nodded. "Mother threw me out, because I was getting in the way and we needed wood."  
"There's good wood in that ugly throne that your mother has built for herself," said Ivar. "I'll make lunch, because you look starved."  
I guess she doesn't need it anymore," said Bjorn. "and personally, I always thought it was in rather poor taste."  
"Your mother may have been a great shield wife, but her tastes have never been that refined," said Ivar. "I have lentils...have you ever eaten dhal? They put me in the kitchen at Shambala and the bonzes eat a lot of dhal...." He set to work building a small fire, no bigger than that of a common farm house in the vast fire pit of the Great Hall, then grabbed a pot and started chopping onions into it. "Too bad there's no meat left," he said. "I've got a reindeer out in the yard, but if we slaughtered it for meat and blood soop, I'd have no transportation out of here!"


	10. Help Me, Obe-Gyn!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which our story turns into a Polanski version of Call the Midwife

Saunas were kept scrupulously clean, which was why Northern women traditionally used them as delivery rooms. Afterwards, the boards would be scrubbed and sanded to remove all trace of blood. Sister Margurite pitied whoever may have had that task because in this case the mother-to-be had borne down too soon, and had torn herself open. There was a sizeable pool of blood on the bench and spilling onto the floor, and the sour-faced woman of middle years who knelt on the floor at the younger woman's feet and stroked her hand and told her she was beautiful and brave and that this ordeal would soon be over seemed dreadfully alarmed. Sister Margurite guessed that this was Queen Lagertha.   
"'Scuse me, Ma'am," said Peg. "but I'm a midwife, and this is a delivery room, not a battlefield. She's in my hands now. The look that the Queen shot at her nearly turned Sister Peg to stone, but she glowered right back.  
"You look familiar," said Lagertha. "Have we met before?"  
"No, Ma'am. I've met your husband and your son, and I believe you once tried to get my cousin to double-team you. You might remember Aethelstan...he was a small man who loved Christ and was absolutely terrified of parsnips and aggressive women."  
Lagertha continued to glower. "Why do people keep bringing that up? And besides, you did unspeakable things to my son. It made him go a bit funny."  
Astrid paused in her labour long enough to speak. "That's putting it mildly, Lagertha! He's a...FRIG! MORE CONTRACTIONS!"  
There was more pushing and laboured breathing, and something popped out in a gush of blood.  
"Was that the head?" Astrid asked "Sweet Freya, let it be the head!"  
"Um," said Sister Peg. "It's a breech birth. In laywoman's terms, it's coming out arse end first, which is not good."  
"LAGERTHA, YOU BITCH! i SHOULD NEVER HAVE LET YOUR FREAKISH SON TOUCH ME! i SWEAR BY ALL THE GODS i WILL NEVER TOUCH ANOTHER COCK FOR AS LONG AS i LIVE!"  
These words erupted from Astrid's mouth in a series of agonized screams. Whatever courage or pride the younger woman had had on the battlefield had melted away, and pregnancy and hunger had wasted her body down to to rags and bones. What was left was a starveling waif in terrible pain, who wept shamelessly as her strength ebbed away."I didn't enjoy it, Lagertha...I did it to make you happy. Torvig warned me he was like a bull moose in heat, but she did not tell me he had such an ugly cock..."  
"They're not the most attractive part of the male anatomy, are they?" asked Sister Peg.  
"I don't know," said Astrid. "I only saw one, and it was UGLY! Bjorn tried really hard, but he never got me off, and I had to hide the fact that it hurt so he wouldn't be offended." Margurite noticed that Astrid's eyes were as big and blue as Bjorn's or as Ivar's, and had a sneaking suspicion that they were indeed more closely related than cousins. "Lagertha wanted proper grandchildren who weren't from some slave girl or foreign hussy....I'm sorry, Lagertha, I'm so sorry...."  
"You'll need this," said Sister Peg. "I can't stop the bleeding. She reached into a hidden pocket, and brought out a caladon vial shaped like the seed-head of an opium poppy. "This is laudanum from Afghanistan. In small amounts, it kills pain. In larger amounts, it kills people. If you take it your death will be faster and less painful than if you are conscious while you bleed to death....or if you're really unfortunate, you'll linger for days until sepsis sets in. You know what's best for you." She fixed Lagertha with an icy gray-green stare. "Mother doesn't always know best, even for her own child...." The infant's shoulders and head popped out.  
"Can I see it? asked Lagertha. "Is it strong? Is it healthy? Is it a girl or a ..."  
"Um," said Sister Peg. "None of the above. This infant has stunted legs like Ivar's, and ambiguous genitalia, and..."  
"OH, SWEET FREYA! THE EYES! WHAT HAPPENED TO THE BABY'S EYES?" Suddenly the sauna door swung open, and the Seer walked in, grinning from ear to ear. "The baby has its great-grandfather's eyes. MY eyes. Hello, Little One...I've been waiting for you for a very long time! He grabbed the infant from Sister Peg's arms, and stalked out chortling. "And what should I call you? Sappho? Nitocris? No, too foreign...Floki named his little girl Angreboda, but I wouldn't stick a name like that on you....oh, I know! Aino! Yes, that is your name!"

The Great Hall slowly filled with gaunt women attracted by the smell of soup cooking. There seemed to be no men left in Kattegat besides Bjorn and the Seer, and there were but seventy or so shield wives left in Lagertha's regiment, and fifty or so of them were pregnant. "Astrid was the first," said Bjorn. "But it was pretty obvious after a while that she really did not like being with men. She also had terrible breath and kept borrowing my toothbrush and razor, so after her Mother made me fuck some of her other shield wives. I lay with every one of them who was not absolutely appalled by the idea of fucking me at least once, and some of them much more than that...at least until I strained my back." Bjorn rubbed his tailbone. "Then the famine hit, and some of them ran away. Mother was bloody furious."  
"There was a pregnant lady hanging from the gate," said Ivar. "Was she...?"  
Bjorn nodded ruefully. "Her name was Ilsey. She was rough, and I kinda liked her."  
"So your mother killed a woman who was carrying her grandchild?" asked Dimitri. "Fuck, that's BARBARIC....and so was pimping you out in the first place! Y'know, we Greeks would never let women have their way like this..."  
"So speaks a man from the culture that give us theatre..." said Ivar. "Those damn Thespians....too much drama! Too much drama!"  
"Hey, don't knock Lesbos... oooops! You were talking about actors, weren't you? At any rate, Bjorn, your Mum's a bitch an you need to grow some balls and cut yourself free from her apron strings!"  
Bjorn's eyes went wild.  
"Oh shit," said Ivar. "Run, Dimitri. Bjorn goes loopy when people say bad things about his mama!"  
At that point, Queen Lagertha strode in, loudly declaring "My son's balls were huge even when he was a baby....I should know, I used to change his diapers! Hullo, Ivar. We all assumed you were dead when we stopped hearing you scuttling about in the thatch. Where have you been?"  
"I've been scuttling about on the Roof of the World, Ma'am." Ivar grinned widely enough to show his back teeth. I've crossed the Sea of Fire and learned the secret art of Fuck You from the Laughing Lama of Shambala, and I've made the dread Pu Ti Tang my bitch."  
"I don't get your point, Ivar." said Lagertha.  
Ivar's grin and creepy gwailo eyes got wider and brighter. "My point is that I no longer hate you now that I've been up where I can see farther." Out of the corner of his eye, Ivar saw Sister Peg whispering ing Bjorn's ear, and the Seer handed him a tiny bundle from which protruded a single perfectly-formed hand. Bjorn's eyes were round with horror as he examined the infant's face. "I don't hate you, Lagertha....I pity you. You were beautiful once, and a noted shield wife. Most people have given you your way because they either feared you or wanted to bed you. But like all things of this world, beauty and strength of arms fade away. You murdered my Mother because Father got tired of your bullshit and because you envied her fecundity....but for all your complaints about his infidelity, you were not faithful to him, were you?" Ivar handed the Queen a bowl of dhal with a chappati on top.  
"What is this?" she asked.   
"It's dhal....mostly lentils and onions and the odd turnit," said Ivar. "It's better made with chicken stock, but we didn't have any. It won't poison you, it's just vegetarian.  
"I don't like foreign food. Bjorn eats weird stuff, but I don't care for it." She sniffed, and set the bowl aside. "It's too hot, anyway."  
Ivar saw that his half-brother had started to sob. "But you haven't hurt me half as much as you've hurt your own son. He's the person who loves you the most, and when Father left you, you tried to use Bjorn as a substitute for him. Your friend Astrid, too....who did she remind you of when you met her? Your daughter, Gyda? They're the same age. And look at my eyes, Lagertha. Look at Bjorn's eyes...we have the same eyes as Father, and so does Astrid. Your relationship with your son bordered on incest, but when you put him to bed with your whore, it crossed that line."  
"Astrid was strong and beautiful and I thought she would make beautiful grandchildren...." said Lagertha.  
"She was a skinny, brainless bitch who didn't even like cock," said Ivar. "and you're a damn fool if you think she loved anyone but herself. I've met Bjorn's other wife, the one you call a 'foreign hussy.' She....well, we need to get Bjorn home to her before she tries to do something heinous. If Bjorn doesn't want her, I'll bull her."  
Lagertha chuckled. "With what?"" She cautiously sipped a bit of dhal."  
"Same as you, Ma'am. Anyway, I can't hate you because I pity you. You're old and miserable and mean and you've ruined your relationship with your son, and I hope Peg gave your whore a merciful death because the Aesir have no room in Valhalla for people who commit incest...."  
"Spare me your pity and your mercy, I have no use for either of them!" said Lagertha. She downed a gulp of dhal, but something---possibly a chunk of turnip, or a stone that Ivar had failed to pick from the lentils---lodged in her throat. As Lagertha's lips turned blue, Bjorn jumped to his feet and started pounding on his mother's back, but his efforts to save his mother her only cracked her ribs. The Seer grabbed Aino and lit out for the territories as Bjorn started to roar.  
"Change of plans, Ivar....let's scuttle!" shouted Sister Peg. "Fire up the bobsled, Dimitri! With any luck the Behemoth will chase us until his temper cools!" Then she threw a handful of cherry bombs in the firepit and ran out the door screeching like an enraged bobcat.  
"What the fuck?" asked Ivar as the cherry bombs exploded, raising panic among the shield wives, and Dimitri grabbed him by the back of his sheepskin coat and hoisted Ivar onto his shoulder.  
"She got those in Tibet," said Dimitri as he took off after the nun on the run.


	11. Who's Your Daddy?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Lagertha enters a slightly different Afterlife than the one she was expecting, and is returned by an unexpected twist of fate to a still more unexpected outcome.

"This is not Valhalla," Lagertha said. "All I see is a field with a tree in it beside a river. It's nice, but...meh, I was hoping for a Valkyrie to greet me with a horn of mead, or something. What is this place? Is it Hell? Where is my husband?"  
"Hullo, Ma'am," said Nate. "You remember me, don't you? I followed you and Bjorn from Byzantium. I'm sorry to say that Ragnar's already taken another turn on the Wheel. You're in the Jewish Afterlife." Nate smiled, and adjusted his yarmulke. "You would not have gone to Valhalla anyway, because choking to death is not exactly a heroic death in battle. Of course, if the Brotherly Love arrives in time..."  
"FRIG! THIS IS HELL!" Lagertha yelled. "i'm going to spend Eternity with a purveyor of kosher meat! You're worse than Aethelstan! Odin help me! What did I do to deserve this?"  
Nate regarded her gravely, but said nothing. Air suddenly rushed into Lagertha's lungs.  
"Thank God those Caledonian missionaries know mouth-to-mouth resuscitation," said Nate as Lagertha disappeared. "because an Eternity spent with Bjorn's Jezebel of a mother really would be the nethermost pit of Sheol!"

Someone who had missed their morning shave had clamped their lips over hers in the grossest kiss of Lagertha's life, forcing air that reeked of whiskey and garlic into her lungs. She was enveloped in scratchy wool that smelled a bit like sweat.  
"That's enough, George." someone said. There's life in the old girl yet."  
The Caledonian missionary set her down gingerly. "You're not for Valhalla yet, Ma'am." he said. "Though as I understand it, you probably wouldn't go there after choking on vegetarian curry. Be careful now....Bjorn cracked two of your ribs, pounding on your back."  
"Where is Bjorn? she asked.  
"He's presently being scrubbed down, checked for diseases and royally chewed out by his wives and my brother," said Brother George. "He's ambulatory, but in a state of shock. If we hadn't been warned ahead of time, you would have choked. Kylli told us she had a dream about this happening nine months ago. My brother and I don't believe in that sort of witchcraft, but here you are and here we are and..."  
Bjorn shambled in, trailing wives, one of whom wore a yashmak. The other was nearly as tall as Bjorn and had auburn hair tied in a knot, and was evidently quite angry at him.  
"Moron! Idiot! Why you fuck those Jezebels? You might get nasty disease, then I don' wanna fuck you! And why you covered in tattoos? They all fucked up, ruin your pretty skin forever! Did the twat with the tattooed tits do this to you? Look at me when I'm talking to you, shithead!" Then she switched languages to Latin, hissing "barbarus stupidus, infidel et infirm..." Bjorn reached around and grabbed the red haired girl's sizeable fanny, and she giggled.  
"Mother, meet Bellona. She is one of my wives."  
"Now I know why the Romans built a wall across Britain..." said Lagertha. "It was to keep hussies like her on the other side!"  
Bellona snickered, snorted, then began to laugh so uproariously that her breasts nearly popped loose from her bodice. Her nipples were leaking a bit, and her hair shone almost as bright as the red-gold torques about her neck and wrists, and Lagertha was suddenly reminded that she was nearing fifty, and was neither as fair or as fearsome in battle as she once was. "Who ya callin' a hussy?" Bellona asked. "Yer the one who once tried to lure a member of the clergy into yer bed! Aye...I'm a barbarous Briton. Ya don' like me 'cos I don' talk like you, 'cos I dress different, an' I don' worship yer gods. But ye can no more keep me away with walls and swords than ye could keep yer husband from sailing West. The Big Wheel turns, and new people an' ideas an' things are always comin' while the old ones perish if they no longer serve their purpose." Bellona was smiling and rocking from foot to foot, and Lagertha realized that her daughter in law was somewhat like Ragnar had been in character, if not in blood. "Ye've done a piss poor job of ruling Norway, an' a worse job of being a mother to yer son. Look what yer bitches did to him."  
Bjorn had twisted around and was trying to inspect the bandage on his lower back. He had lost so much weight that his vertebrae could be counted, and looked like a mongrel dog worrying at an itch. "You've learned a lot of Norse since I last saw you, Bellona" he said.  
"Thank'ee!" said Bellona. "Thorunn taught me. But what to do about yer Mum? She nearly ruin ya, but I don' wanna kill her. She Jezebel, but still yer Mum, and you got some of her friends pregnant. No good to kill old women and unborn babies, even if they be bitches and bastards. I talk to the Tir Manannan Lads earlier. They say their island is empty for many years."  
"They also said it was a frozen wart on Satan's arse," said Bjorn. "But Mother always wanted to start her own colony, so a frozen wart on the Devil's backside might be the best place for her and her friends."  
"Tir Manannan means 'island of women', said Bellona. "Good place for a pack of bitches and little bastards." She grinned and twinkled. "They'll need sheep for meat an' wool." She tugged on Bjorn's braid. "But first...I missed you, shit for brains!"  
Bjorn stood up stiffly, and sighed. "Well, if I'm going to be relentlessly womanhandled," he said. "It might as well be by you!"


End file.
